Lo-Ball

A Prediction

And in the same way ancient bricks don’t hang in the sky without detection or prevention from fragile menwho spend their inflamed, unabridged days mixing mud with clay and a quarter-percent sand thus stolenfrom ornamental hourglasses unsold in shuttered stores specializing in fully rigged Neolithic fishing ships(no wonder the need for closure) and how these clots placed in tiny fires never reach the extreme heat of the space-time continuum, so too our eyes behind our glasses don’t see the dull growth of trees until the day bulldozers come to lay groundwork for a pre-planned bypass that will link the previous three-hundred-and-sixty-four with the next. On this day of concoctions, confections and a type of contentment that can only last twenty-four turns of the vertical bulbs comes a desire to destroy the machine cast from the same material it casts: “let us make bricks, and burn them thoroughly” to briefly stop the production of more bricks from bricks, so breaking the perpetual passage of microwavable minutes. Perhaps this programmable date of binary numbers is the dayin which it will be said you are a man to be reckoned with.